


Cracked

by maryagrawatson



Series: Reset Universe [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, non-graphic references to attempted rape and violence, references to the deleted scene with Magnussen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8780797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryagrawatson/pseuds/maryagrawatson
Summary: A brief follow-up to "Reset." Follows immediately from the end of that story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who wondered where the hell John was. :) Not betaed, not Britpicked.

“Yes, she did,” Lestrade admits.  
Sherlock swallows hard. “I can’t imagine any other outcome.” He sighs and turns his attention back to the worktop.  
“Are you actually going to make me coffee?” Lestrade asks incredulously.  
“Yes. Problem?”  
“No. Do please carry on.”

A short time later, they sit at the kitchen table, a pile of buttered toast and a steaming beverage in front of them. “What do you want on yours?” Lestrade asks, pulling the plate of toast closer to him.  
“Honey, I guess. I’m really not hungry.”  
Lestrade prepares two slices and passes them over to Sherlock. “Don’t know about you, but I can’t take pain meds on an empty stomach. Feel all queasy like.”  
“Me too.” Sherlock takes a nibble of one of his slices.  
“Listen, I got to get to work, but John’s on his way. We both figured yesterday that one person seeing you in that state was enough, but I want him to check your wounds.”  
“Right. Thanks.”

Lestrade drains his coffee cup and then spreads jam on two slices of toast and presses them together. “I really got to go, but I need to know you’re going to be okay till John gets here.”  
“I’ll be fine,” Sherlock says quietly, still picking at his toast. “When do you think I’ll have to go back in?”  
“Not for a few days.”  
“Surprised Mycroft hasn’t shown up yet to lecture me.”  
“He won’t. I told him to back off.”  
Sherlock looks up, eyes narrowing in surprise. “You what?”  
“I know you find it hard to believe, but your brother really does care about you, Sherlock. However, he’s got a shit way of showing it sometimes and it’s usually not helpful. He’s really worried about you, but you don’t have to worry about him popping up any time soon. Just relax, process what happened, and have a good talk with John if you to.”  
Sherlock exhales sharply. “Like I said last night—“  
Lestrade moves to him and lays a hand on his good shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I get it. I’ll be in touch. Ring me if you need anything.”

It’s not even a half hour later that Mrs. Hudson lets John into the flat. He takes the stairs slowly and raps gently on the doorframe to the kitchen. Sherlock is still sitting at the table, most of his two slices of toast gone cold in front of him.  
“Can I come in?” John asks.  
“Of course. Tea?”  
“I’ll make it,” John says, hanging his coat. “Do you want me to peel you an orange?”  
“Okay.”

“Well, you had the day from hell,” John says matter of factedly when he sits across from Sherlock a few minutes later.  
“Understatement of the century. And I have a few points of comparison.” Sherlock eats one of the orange segments and, finding that it goes down well, has another.  
“Are you in a lot of pain?”  
“Just sore.”  
“Well, finish up and then I’ll have a look.”

Ten minutes later, John helps Sherlock take off his tee shirt and then has him straddle a kitchen chair backwards. He washes his hands and pulls on a pair of gloves before gently peeling off the bandage. He chuckles at what he finds underneath.  
“What’s so funny?” Sherlock asks, startled.  
“Greg said you were stabbed.”  
“I was stabbed!”  
“Well, it was more of a glancing blow. Very superficial. No wonder they didn’t make you go in. Looking good, no sign of inflammation. Anything else I should worry about?”  
“I had a little blood in my urine this morning.” He flinches as John moves to palpate the deep contusion on his lower back.  
“Bruised kidney, very likely. Any abdominal pain?”  
“Nothing significant. The shoulder hurts the worst.”  
“Yeah. I think you pulled a muscle.”

John applies a fresh bandage and helps Sherlock get redressed. They move to the lounge.

“Do you still have to see that therapist?”  
“Yes.”  
“You can talk to me, too, if you want.”  
Sherlock leans back in his chair and exhales sharply. “Yesterday was bad.”  
“I know it was. But you’ve had bad days before.”  
“No.” Sherlock shakes his head. “No. This... there’s never been anything like this before, not even — I never told you that Magnussen came to visit me when I was in hospital.”  
John does a double take at this seemingly non sequitur. “What?”  
“I didn’t want you to know because you would have done what I ended up doing.”  
John processes that and finally understands what Sherlock is not saying. “Wait a minute. What the fuck did he do to you?”

It takes a long moment for Sherlock to respond. When he does so, he’s looking down at his lap, as though to distance himself. “He touched me. Just my hand, but I’d never felt so… so…” It takes him a moment and then he spits it out. “ _Violated_. I’d never felt so violated in my life. I was under heavy sedation and couldn’t move. I’d been beaten before, even to the point of what some might call torture, but what happened with Magnussen was the worst. What he was implying had never been implied before. Even though I knew he’d never cross that line, it was clear that he could have.

“Yesterday, I knew that if I didn’t so something, that line would be crossed and something that I never thought was important to me was threatened. I just don’t get it, John, why sexual assault is so much worse than a beating. Have you ever…”  
“No. I’m sorry. I have no point of comparison.”  
“I was lying under him and all I could think of was Scottie growing up in this ugly world without me to protect her…” Sherlock’s voice breaks and he starts to weep silently. “I wanted to live so badly to protect her, John. My life had never mattered to me as much as it did in that moment when I could see no end to this scenario but my body being found like that…” He swipes angrily at his tears. “Why do I feel so much?”

“Because you’re a good person, Sherlock. You should be relieved by how much you’re hurting right now and how angry you are at the world and how much you love Scottie. That’s what separates you from men like Moriarty and Magnussen and Porter.”

Sherlock finally cracks open and the stresses of not just the previous day, but of the past couple of years, finally pour out of him. He barely registers when John moves to sit on the arm of the chair, wraps his arms around him, and pulls him close.

After letting Sherlock cry for a long moment, John speaks softly. “I never thanked you for what you did for me and my family. It’s taken me too long to see it, but I do now. I’m sorry if I caused you any hurt.” Sherlock exhales deeply against John’s chest. “Why don’t you come home with me for a bit? You can spend some time with Scottie.”  
Sherlock sniffles noisily. “I don’t want to be in the way.”  
“You won’t be in the way. We’ll give you chores.”  
Sherlock lets out a half sob, half laugh. He pulls away. “Oh, so this is your master plan to get free childcare and housekeeping.”  
John chuckles. “You always could see right through me. So how about it?”  
“I’d like that.”


End file.
